Marked by
the Dark

Rhysand had never been gentle with the things he claimed. When the mating bond snapped into place with a force that shook his very bones, the High Lord of the Night Court decided with cold, unyielding certainty that Feyre Archeron would never leave his side — not even if she begged. He kept her in the Moonstone Palace at first, a gilded cage of silk and shadow, surrounding her with his constant presence until she could scarcely remember what solitude felt like. The first time he took her, it was with a possessive intensity that left her shaking and marked — his wings wrapping around them both, a living cage of membrane and bone as he whispered 'mine' against her throat while she came undone beneath him, her release drawn out by his relentless pace. Afterward he held her through the velvet dark, keeping her close against his chest, his heartbeat a steady drum against her ear. Feyre learned that freedom under Rhysand's claim was a different kind of captivity — one she was no longer certain she wanted to escape, even as her fingers traced the marks he'd left on her skin and she felt the terrible, beautiful weight of being truly, irrevocably owned.